Death in the Sunshine (Retired Detectives Club, #1)(3)

Getting out of the Toyota, he smooths imagined creases from the front of his navy polo shirt and strides past the patrol cars. A group of rubberneckers have formed at the end of the cordon closest to the park. He counts five people; all grey-haired and older – obviously residents. He recognises a couple from the golf club. Sees one of the ladies is sitting in the latest top-of-the-range mobility cart, a Platinum Swiftster. These aren’t your usual rubberneckers.

The tall moustached guy from the golf club raises his hand and beckons Philip to come join them. Philip doesn’t have time for small talk, though. He gives the man a nod and wave, but keeps walking. He can’t be distracted. Has to stay focused on the scene.

Ducking under the yellow crime-scene tape, he hurries towards the park entrance. He clocks the CSIs working just inside the archway and the meat handlers wheeling an empty gurney away along the stone path between the pickleball courts.

Definitely one stiff, he thinks. Minimum.

‘Sir, you need to stop right there.’

Turning, Philip sees a uniformed cop climbing out of the furthest patrol car. He stops and lets the cop catch him up. The lad looks like a real young gun – mirrored shades, deep tan and the kind of authoritarian tone boys lacking in confidence put on to overcompensate.

Philip gestures towards the park. ‘So what have we got?’

The cop stops beside him. ‘Sir—’

‘It’s a homicide, yes?’ prompts Philip. It’s a long shot – until recently, the crime rate on The Homestead has been virtually zero – but with the cops, medics and a meat wagon it’s obvious something serious has gone down.

The cop frowns and ignores the question. He steps closer, too close really. He’s taller than Philip at around six foot, but looks barely out of college. ‘I’m going to have to ask you to move back, sir. No unauthorised personnel allowed beyond this point.’

Philip doesn’t appreciate the youngster’s tone. He’s a DCI; uniforms should do as he says. ‘I understand, officer, I’m law enforcement too.’

The cop frowns again. ‘You got a badge?’

‘Well, no, not here in the US, but I’m—’

‘Then I can’t let you any closer.’

Philip clenches his fists. ‘Now look here, I’m . . .’ He stops and puts telling this cocky kid just who he’s dealing with on hold, because there’s a woman emerging from the back of the ambulance and he recognises her. He’s good like that. Never forgets a face or a name. And Moira is a memorable kind of woman; tall and athletic with her black hair cropped into a pixie cut and a face that looks far younger than anyone else’s here at The Homestead. She’s a new resident. His wife, Lizzie, told him that before she introduced them the other day when they’d met in Publix doing the weekly shop. Moira and Lizzie had met at yoga a few weeks before. He doesn’t know why Moira’s in the ambulance, but he’s damn sure he’s going to find out.

Drawing himself up to his full height so he’s almost eye to eye with the officer, Philip points towards the ambulance. ‘Look son, you need to let me through. I’m here to support my friend.’

The young cop follows his gaze. Frowns again. Says nothing.

Philip senses the youngster is feeling uncertain. He needs to exploit that. ‘Moira,’ he calls, waving towards the ambulance.

She looks over but there’s no sign in her expression that she recognises him.

Damn it, thinks Philip. Come on, remember.

There’s a silver space blanket around her shoulders and a stressed-looking paramedic seems to be trying to coax her back into the ambulance. Maybe she’s injured or concussed or something. Philip raises his hand and waves again. ‘Moira. You okay?’

She frowns, and starts to turn away.

Philip can’t have that. He needs her to buck up and pay attention. He shouts her name louder. Repeats it a few times.

The young cop shifts his weight from foot to foot. ‘Sir, really, you need to—’

‘Moira, it’s Philip, I’m coming to help you.’ Philip can’t let this boy turn him away. He needs to be on the inside. He won’t tolerate being held outside like some random member of Joe public. He just can’t allow that to happen. He waves more frantically. ‘Moira!’

She turns again. She’s frowning now, and Philip thinks she’s going to ignore him again, but then she raises a hand. It’s not a proper wave but it’s good enough.

‘You see,’ Philip says to the cop. ‘She’s in shock, hardly recognised me. I have to go to her.’

The kid looks conflicted, dithering. He looks over towards the patrol cars but there’s no sign of his colleagues.

The boy’s out of his depth, thinks Philip. He almost feels sorry for him. Almost but not quite.

When they both turn back towards the ambulance Moira’s disappeared but even though he can’t see her, Philip can hear her well enough. The voices coming from inside the ambulance – one male and American, one female and British – are loud and rising in volume.

‘You hear that, officer?’ Philip says, in his most earnest voice. ‘I can help.’

The youngster rubs his brow, glances once more back towards the patrol cars, then says, ‘Okay then, but don’t go into the park. Stay with your friend, okay?’